


Dark Triad

by Jakathine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Mental Breakdown, Mental Disintegration, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakathine/pseuds/Jakathine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title is called "Dark Triad" because the term itself is:</p><p>Defined as a set of traits that include the tendency to seek admiration and special treatment (otherwise known as narcissism), to be callous and insensitive (psychopathy) and to manipulate others (Machiavellianism)</p><p>-source: psychologytoday.com-</p><p>Story based off of prompt:<br/>http://willietheplaidjacket.tumblr.com/post/73897320687/</p></blockquote>





	Dark Triad

“It’s _raining_ …it’s _pouring_ …Sherlock is **_BORING_**!” Moriarty chanted childishly as he paced around his shackle-limited space in the padded cell and giggled manically.

Sherlock’s eyes rolled in his head as he staved off the darkness that threatened to consume him but the incessant giggles and shrill from Moriarty were piercing through his consciousness.

“I’m _laughing_ …I’m _crying_ …Sherlock is _DYINGGGGGG_.” Moriarty sang as he dribbled spit from his lips to land on Sherlock’s forehead and tugged at his restraints.

Suddenly the chain gave way from the wall, causing Moriarty to be flung across Sherlock’s chest, causing Sherlock to scream in agony upon Moriarty landing on the bullet wound. The two lay stunned then Moriarty stood up, pushing his heel into Sherlock’s face for leverage.

Upon standing Moriarty looked down at his straight jacket, which had become unstrapped in the back when the chains broke, and grinned maliciously as he shook it off. The jacket landed on the wet dirt with a sickening thump as Sherlock turned on his side to watch in horror. Moriarty stalked over to Sherlock, his bare chest and face gleaming with sweat that made furrows in the layers of dirt and grime, and dragged Sherlock to his knees. Sherlock screamed in anguish and felt a new wave of hot blood spurting from the bullet wound. Moriarty bent down slightly to make his face even with Sherlock’s before hacking a wad of phlegm onto his face and cackling. Sherlock could only watch with disgust as the slime trailed down his forehead and nose in a thick stream as he was currently gripping the wound in an effort to retain blood.

Moriarty studied Sherlock’s tear stained face then promptly dropped him before heading towards the cell door. Sherlock tottered on his knees and fell forwards before catching himself.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock managed to gasp out in betwixt labored breaths.

Moriarty turned on his heel, causing a deep groove to be dug into the dirt, “I’m going to wreck hell.” With a smile he kicked the door open, causing it to fly off its hinges, and walked out into Sherlock’s mind palace.

Sherlock stumbled, caught himself on the side of the doorframe, and hauled himself up. By the time Sherlock caught up with Moriarty in his mind palace’s main brightly-lit corridor, Moriarty had conjured a gun in one hand and a fire lighter.  The corridor darkened to Moriarty’s presence but then a sudden flare from Moriarty shot out and Sherlock realized that Moriarty intended to set the wooden frames afire.

Hysterical laughter erupted from Moriarty’s lips as he took off full speed down the corridor, lighting the posts as he ran past before he ducked into the courtroom that Sherlock enjoyed using for deducing.

“No!” Sherlock called out weakly as he attempted to follow Moriarty.

Flames licked at the wood greedily as the heat rolling off of them destroyed the glass. Sherlock shuffled wearily towards the court room to see Moriarty sitting placidly in the judge booth where Mycroft stood not too long ago. The benches all around were in flames, the wood on the front of the booth riddled with bullets so as to appear like a smile.

“It’s raining…it’s pouring….” Moriarty began to chant again as he aimed his gun at the ceiling lights before firing.

Thousands of pieces of glass rained down on Sherlock, cutting his face and hands as he attempted to shield himself at the last moment. Moriarty jumped from his seat and ran out of the courtroom, stopping at another door off to the side to flick a middle finger at Sherlock before disappearing.

Sherlock knew he could no longer follow and stepped out of the courtroom and back into the extremely hot corridor. He shed his Belstaff coat but to no avail, the smoke rolling in billows and extremity of the heat on top of the bleeding wound were piercing through his senses and causing him to convulse.

He knew not where Moriarty went but he could feel it in his mind. Happy memories of him and his parents became dark. Instead of seeing his mother gently kiss him goodnight on the forehead he instead saw her advancing towards him, meat carving knife in hand and rage casting long shadows over him. Sherlock whimpered and slunk away to feel his back hit a wall. Mycroft’s voice floated through, reminding him on the phone about Redbeard and what happened the last time Sherlock had cared for anything or let anything close to him.

Fresh tears coursed down Sherlock’s eyes as more and more of his memories became bloodied and dark. Mrs. Hudson kicking him out of Baker Street, the only good home he ever knew. There was John punching him over and over, telling him how terrible a friend he was and how he should have never even met Sherlock. Sherlock choked back a wave of nausea as he watched Mary slow dance with John at the wedding and slowly pull out a gun from behind her, line it up to aim at Sherlock, and fire.

The cracking of the gun’s firing caused Sherlock’s eyes to fling open and he was aware that Moriarty was a mere ten paces away from him, his chortling laughter resounding off of the walls as the smoke thickened around them.

Sherlock could hear his name from a distance but did not know who could be shouting to him from so far away. Sherlock allowed himself to fall back, convulsions taking full hold as more pain blossomed in his abdomen. He could hear footsteps running towards him from the opposite direction of where Moriarty stood. Suddenly at his side was John, shouting his name and touching his wound carefully. Concern was etched in his face. Sherlock thought he must be imagining things but the touch was gentle even though John was cursing vividly.

A strangled scream made him jerk up, against John’s wishes, and Sherlock could see Redbeard had bounded out of a room and had latched onto Moriarty’s throat, tearing large gashes into the man while forcing him down to the ground. Redbeard continued to snarl and bite as Moriarty thrashed wildly then lay still, blood pooling around him. Redbeard stepped away, blood coating his soft fur and dripping from his jaws as he walked over to Sherlock and lay at his side protectively.

Sherlock touched one of Redbeard’s ears in a sign of gratitude before being shoved back down tenderly by John. Sherlock knew no more as he succumbed to unconsciousness.

“Sherlock?” John asked tenderly upon seeing Sherlock’s eyelids waver.

Sherlock opened his eyes to see himself in a sanitary hospital room, John at his bedside, and no Moriarty in sight. Relief swept through him as he turned his gaze to John.

John smiled, “Glad that you’re back with us.”

Sherlock ,knowing that there were parts of him not going to ever be back, flashed a cheeky smile at John in an attempt to make himself feel less guilty as he said, “I am too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is called "Dark Triad" because the term itself is:
> 
> Defined as a set of traits that include the tendency to seek admiration and special treatment (otherwise known as narcissism), to be callous and insensitive (psychopathy) and to manipulate others (Machiavellianism)
> 
> -source: psychologytoday.com-
> 
> Story based off of prompt:  
> http://willietheplaidjacket.tumblr.com/post/73897320687/


End file.
